


Matter of the Soul

by LadyCrimsonAndBlack



Series: The Truth of the Soul [1]
Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: F/M, Female Ciel Phantomhive
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-23
Updated: 2017-01-23
Packaged: 2018-09-19 12:20:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9440213
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyCrimsonAndBlack/pseuds/LadyCrimsonAndBlack
Summary: Celia Phantomhive has finally achieved her revenge and is ready to die. A deal is a deal, after all. Surprisingly, Sebastian is the one with second thoughts.





	

It was a massacre. There was no other word for it.

The previously pristine drawing room was completely covered in blood, the rich red colour of the walls stained by the crimson red splatter and tiny rivers of the dark liquid running across the expensive, wooden floor. Three corpses were left lying on the soft, tasteful carpets, which were ruined beyond repair. The gentle light of gas lamps fell on the silver knives buried deep into their chests, the metal glittering almost invitingly under the illumination. The smell of blood and terror assaulted the senses of anyone close by, and the sound of quiet sniffling filled the silence.

Celia could feel her lips tugging upwards at the sight of the carnage and a kneeling man in front of her and idly noted that Sebastian's sadism had clearly influenced her more then she had previously thought.

"Please… please! Don't… don't kill me! It was all Jonathan's idea… Please!"

Her hand shot forward, lighting fast, and a sound of the slap echoed in the suddenly quiet room.

She eyed the captured noble contemptuously, her sapphire gaze alight with hatred. "Count Ronald Ashwood III," she stated, pale, slender fingers twirling a long, silver knife dexterously. The man's muddy brown gaze seemed to be transfixed by the play of the light on the blade. "Owner of the Ashwood Corporation – a direct competition to my company." She lowered herself to his eye-level, her dress rustling with every movement as she forced him to look into her eye and see his death there. "You are a very rich man, Lord Ashwood," she crooned, trailing the cold metal of her blade gently against his cheekbone. To her delight, the nobleman shivered in horror. "But you wanted to be even richer, didn't you? You wanted more money, more power, and for that you needed the Phantomhives out of the way. You needed to get rid of my family," her voice gained a sympathetic quality, eerie in its intimacy, and she took a lot of pleasure from his wide-eyed, frightened looks. "So you sold them out. Betrayed them to their killers" she concluded as she straightened up. "A rather simple solution. Effective. And, I must admit, very deadly for you."

The knife flashed in the light as she slashed, leaving a bloody, jagged cut across the Ashwood's cheek. He howled and Celia's lips stretched even further but only a fool would call the expression on her face a smile.

"I am sorry it took me three years to deliver," she slashed once more, this time injuring his lips and chin. "But you hid your involvement very well. Just not well enough, I'm afraid."

She cut him again. And again. And again. She relished in his pain.

"Please… Please, I'll do anything! Don't kill me! Please! Anything!" Ashwood whimpered and cried, the words barely discernible underneath the nonsense that poured out of his mouth.

Celia paused and looked him in the eye. "Anything?"

He nodded frantically, his eyes swelling with tears of relief. "Yes! Yes! Anything!" he exclaimed, the words stronger now, hope clear on his face.

Celia will enjoy seeing it crushed so, so much.

She bared her teeth in a gruesome parody of a grin. "Then die!"

She swung the blade one last time and buried it deeply into his neck. The thud of the dead body falling on the floor was loud in the sudden silence of the room.

She blinked, and took a deep breath, forcefully calming herself down as the memories from that night resurfaced again. She ruthlessly squashed any feelings that they caused in her chest and forced the recollections of smoke and fire and death into the recesses of her mind, where she will never have to see them again.

"Sebastian," she called, once she was sure that her voice won't shake.

A tall, black figure melted from the shadows behind her, stalking to her side. "Yes, Young Mistress?"

She risked another glance at the rest of the room, at the corpses of her family's murderers and allowed a clinical calm to take over her mind. "I want you to burn this house to the ground. Leave nothing but ashes."

The demon bowed. "Yes, my lady."

…

Sebastian observed his work with no small amount of pleasure.

The fire was alluring, bright and alive in the midnight darkness of the quiet country landscape. It illuminated the night for miles, a beacon signalling trouble to anyone bothering to look. The orange glow was highly visible, the crackling flame luminous under the moon and the stars, painting an almost artistic picture in its devastating beauty. He couldn't help but feel a slight pang of disappointment when the carriage entered the curve in the road and the magnificent view was obscured by the lush greenery of the English countryside.

"Your part of the contract is fulfilled."

The demon glanced at the young girl sharing the carriage, surprised at the sudden interruption of the silence. She had been very quiet since they left the place of the massacre, almost worrisomely so, but now she was looking back at him, her exquisite sapphire eye steady, calm.

"Yes, it is," he answered, and wondered briefly why was she the one who remembered it first. Usually Sebastian could barely wait this very moment, and had often feasted the second the contract was completed. But now he was busy contemplating the fire, of all things.

Interesting.

"You can take my soul now."

He tilted his head, looking at her curiously. No fear, no horror, not even apprehension. Just steady stillness and serenity in her gaze. "Yes, I can."

She huffed impatiently. "Well, why aren't you taking it then?"

Sebastian raised an eyebrow incredulously, completely stunned. Most people would have started running away by now and she's questioning his actions?! This was certainly a first – and that was a rare compliment from a millennia old demon.

Nevertheless, he slithered across the carriage in an almost boneless way only the immortals can and knelt in front of her seat, his long, pale fingers gripping her chin tightly and forcing an eye-contact in a mockery of the previous scene between her and the now dead lord. Judging by the spark of mirthless irony in her eye, she had recognized the jab.

He leaned forward, his face almost touching hers, feeling her slightly shallow, rapid breaths on his skin. Still no fear.

Remarkable.

"Do you want me to?" he asked, his voice a carefully pitched silken drawl that has tempted both women and men for centuries now. She was too controlled, too aware, and he longed to see panic, distress or even a mild alarm on her sharply sculptured features. Maybe even fear. He had never actually seen fear, real, gut-wrenching terror twisting her expression and he suspected that it would be a strangely beautiful sight.

"No, not really," her voice was still steady, maddeningly so, as she looked him straight into the eyes. He knew that they were glowing with an otherworldly light – they must be with the presence of such a delicious soul so close by – but she stared at him unflinchingly. "But a deal is a deal."

"Indeed," he agreed, his fingers brushing her cheek in a poor imitation of gentleness. She shied away slightly from him – finally! – but made no other move to free herself from his grip.

He sighed and let her go abruptly, returning to his seat across from her.

Celia looked at him with wide eyes, surprised for the first time that night. "What are you doing, Sebastian?" she asked as her lips thinned in displeasure, her little fists clenching in the folds of her blood-splattered gown. "Do not play games with me. I am not one of those toys of yours that you use and then dispose of when they're no longer helpful."

Ah, a reaction. Just what he was looking for.

"Of course not, Young Mistress. I am not playing with you. It would be unbecoming and extremely unprofessional for a butler," Sebastian said, taking a delight in the confusion on her face.

"Then what are you doing?"

He leaned back into his seat, his relaxed form casting a complete contrast to her rigid shoulders and straight back. "I merely decided that I will not take your soul. At least not yet."

Not yet.

Celia Phantomhive was interesting. She was intriguing and fascinating and captivating and Sebastian wouldn't deny himself the entertainment the continued association with her would undoubtedly provide. She was a puzzle still, even after spending three years in her company, and that made her unique among the humans. The rest of the species was almost insultingly simple to figure out, to understand, but Celia still somehow managed to surprise him.

Not to mention her endlessly amusing antics.

The little cases she solved for the Queen, the numerous and dangerous problems she dealt with on daily basis, all of it offered him a special insight in the inner workings of her magnificent mind. And she always, always made everything a game, so complicated and yet so simple at the same time, but, most importantly, so riveting and exciting.

Celia Phantomhive made him feel alive again.

He could keep her alive for a decade more at least, in exchange.

And of course, there was the fact that her soul would be even more appetising after a few more years. It simply needed to mature more, much like a good wine, and if he made sure that it became a little bit tainted in the process…

Well, he had always loved spicy food.


End file.
